


head over feet

by Sway



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bottom Merlin (Kingsman), Clothed Sex, Desk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Flirting, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mercival - Freeform, Percival/OFC - Freeform, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Top Percival, with Hartwin on the side
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23311774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway
Summary: Merlin can't remember the last time he's had a hangover of his proportion. He's… not in his bed. In fact, he's not even in his bedroom. A look through the open door confirms another obvious suspicion; it's not his flat.On a drunken night, Merlin lands in Percival's bed... he might just stay... for a little while at least.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Merlin/Percival (Kingsman)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 56
Collections: Kingsman Safe House





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I get really weird idea. Such as "What if Merlin and Percival were friends with benefits".... This is what I make of idea like that. 
> 
> This is also written for the Kingsman Safe House Challenge on tumblr.
> 
> And, to make things even weirder in my head, I fancast Andrew Scott for Percival. Because why the hell not. This might lead to a slightly different take on Percival... just so you've been warned.

Merlin can't remember the last time he's had a hangover of his proportion. Whatever the occasion had been back then, it had probably been Harry's fault. Just as it is his fault again this time if only by proxy.

They had celebrated Harry's stag night - bloody peacock had finally gotten his act together and had proposed to Eggsy, putting them all out of their collective misery - and alcohol had flown a-plenty. And now Merlin is the one to suffer for it.

His head pounds as he tries to sit up and it feels as if his brain is about three minute late to follow the movement. Something in his back pops and he's reminded again why he shouldn't sleep on his front. And there is something else… there's another kind of pain, a pain Merlin hasn't felt in… an embarrassingly long time. He winces as he gets into a sitting position, the twinge going all the way down to his thigh. 

He blinks a few times but has to admit that his vision won't get any better. So feels for his glasses on the bedside table.

He's… not in his bed. In fact, he's not even in his bedroom. A look through the open door confirms another obvious suspicion; it's not his flat. 

Slowly, Merlin rises, groaning as his grey matter catches up, the bedsheet falling from his body. He's naked. He can't be naked wandering around a flat that isn't his. 

He finds his pants on the floor by the foot of the bed. He puts them on, then pads to the door. 

It opens to a vast dining area that's entirely too bright for his current state. The place is clean and tidy, floor to ceiling windows letting in the morning sun. To the left an alcove houses a neat kitchen, further on there's a sitting room with a large TV. To the right, a flight of airy steps leads to a second floor, maybe a terrace. 

It's from those stairs that he hears a voice, the Irish lilt very - oh so very - familiar. 

"There's coffee in the kitchen if you want some. And if it's really as bad as you look, I keep pickled herring in the fridge." 

Merlin’s “Thanks” is more reflex than reply and he makes his way over to the kitchen to fetch himself a cup. He will forgo the hering for now. Taking the first sip he winces, pulls a face, then adds a generous swig of milk.

“You sleep well?” asks the voice from the stairs. 

“All things considering,” Merlin answers vaguely. Whenever he has too much to drink, he goes more or less comatoes.

“You snore.”

“I do not.”

“Do, too.”

A little slower than necessary Merlin rounds the foot of the stairs, then goes up the bottom three steps. 

Percival sits in front of him in his pajama bottoms and a similar but not matching dressing down, dark eyes gleaming with mischief, a smirk curves around the rim of a novelty mug with a corgi on it. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?”

Merlin tries not to grimace. “Mind helping me out?”

“We…,” Percival starts, leaning back onto the stairs, stretching out his legs in an entirely too smug way, “got colossally pissed at Harry’s stag do last night. You were too drunk to be let on a cab by yourself so I took you home.” He takes a sip from his coffee looking obnoxiously nonchalant. “And then I took you over the back of the sofa.”

Merlin almost spits at him. “You what?”

Percival huffs a little chuckle. “I’m kidding.”

Merlin’s shoulders sag in relief. 

“I took you in my bed.”

Merlin is this close to fainting.

“Twice.”

Yeah, he’s sure going down.

“You’re a phenomenal shag.”

“Oh my word, will you stop?” Merlin snaps, holding out a hand. “Please.”

"I didn't hear you say those words last night." 

"Percival!" 

The cheeky smile falters and Percival straightens. "You never struck me as that delicate." He rises. What he lacks in physical height, he makes up for by standing a step above Merlin and a glower that looks almost like hurt. "Listen, let's not make this more than it was. We drank, we shagged, we had coffee. I don't do relationships and if I'm being honest, I've hardly ever seen you outside the mansion either. It was a fun night, but that's all it needs to be." He pauses but continues before Merlin can get a word in. "If you're afraid about us… fraternising… I doubt Arthur will say anything against it, given that we just celebrated him getting engaged to Galahad. And you needn't be worried… I don't brag about my conquests." 

Merlin looks at him, unsure what to think. He hasn't thought this little since 1984.

"You can use the shower in the ensuite. Take your time." Percival turns and starts to walk up the stairs. 

"Per…" 

“No.” Percival looks over his shoulder. "It's Alistair in here." 

*

Merlin almost forgets about the incident because almost out of nowhere there are multiple bomb threats all over Europe and he's trying to juggle them all at once. He has agents dispatched to Brussels, Istanbul, Lisbon, monitoring their progress on twice as many screens. 

He's tired and wired at the same time and of course it doesn't help that Harry is in his non-existent hair, fearing that his wedding might not happen after all.

“Eggsy will be back from Istanbul in two days,” he tries to assure him but it's no use. He still has Harry pace the length of his office. “Will you stop that already?”

“I will stop once that boy is back in my arms safe and sound.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Can't you be hopelessly in love someplace else? Somewhere where it's not driving me absolutely insane?”

“I'm about to get married to this man. Forgive me if I'm slightly worried about his well-being when he's out there defusing a bomb.” 

“And did you stop trusting me to do my job when you proposed to him?”

Harry throws his hands up. “You can't possibly understand.”

Merlin scoffs. “Don't I?”

“With all due respect, Hamish, but when was the last time you even got shagged? You can't know the anguish one feels when being forced to watch a loved one but not being able to help them.”

Merlin doesn't hear that last part or else he would have smacked Harry. All he knows for a few seconds is that strange tingle in the small of his back that makes its way to his groin, tightening his trousers ever so slightly. His pulse thrums in his throat and his fingers slip on the keyboard.

“What the bloody hell was that?” comes Percival's voice from one of the intercoms.

Merlin snaps out of his derailed thoughts, focusing back on the screens, depicting some back alley in Lisbon. “Sorry, agent. I was distracted.”

“Bet you were.”

Merlin swallows, trying not to think too much of anything. “Arthur will leave me alone now so that I can send you the right coordinates.” He shoots a glance over his shoulder. “Won't he?”

Harry huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “The wedding is in two weeks. Bring him home in one piece.”

“Yes, Sir. Arthur, Sir.” Merlin gives him a little mock-salute and watches him storm off with his trademark dramatic flair.

"Didn't think you'd be into authority figures," Percival says on his personal line. "Maybe I should keep that in mind for next time." 

"Focus on your target, please," Merlin replies. He doesn't do a lot of focusing for the next ten minutes. 

Instead he has his fist pressed against his pelvic bone, trying to get his erection to dissipate. He still doesn’t consciously remember what has happened that night but apparently his body does and demands a repetition.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin officiates the wedding and if he had any more hair to lose he would have. While Eggsy had been understandably nervous, Harry had turned into a full-on bridezilla. He had asked Merlin at least half a dozen times to go over every little detail of the ceremony and had told him to rephrase his speech twice. If Harry hadn't been his oldest and closest friend, Merlin would have darted him on multiple occasions. 

The ceremony is held in the gardens of HQ. A tent has been set up but the sides are open to let the warm night air in. Everything is illuminated by fairy lights and torches. Eggsy has his mother and sister there along with a few of his friends. On Harry's side it's their fellow agents and some staff members. It's a personal affair with decent music, good food and even better wine. 

Now that all the speeches are spoken and official dances are danced, Merlin can finally relax. He does so by pouring himself a scotch from the wet bar and sitting down at one of the empty tables away from the dancefloor.

“That was nice. Good speech.” Percival slumps down on the chair next to him, tugging at his necktie until it finally comes loose.

“Thank you,” Merlin replies rather lamely. 

“You look nice, too. Never seen you like this.” With the very tip of his shoe Percival taps against Merlin's hose-clad ankle.

“Not many chances to wear it.” Merlin looks down his body, at his black jacket and waistcoat, the Black Watch tartan kilt, the black calfskin sporran, the black knee-high socks and matching shoes. 

“Know what I always wondered?” Percival leans forward across the corner of the table. “What _do_ you Scots wear underneath?”

Merlin blinks at him. It's not that he hasn't heard that line before - he basically hears it every time he does wear a kilt - but he's never heard it like this. Like somebody is what?.. Flirting with him? Hitting on him? He's sent Percival on only a few but enough honeypot missions to be able to identify that tone.

Before he speaks, he takes a sip of his scotch. "I thought we weren't going to make more of it than it was." 

Percival smiles at him, this one genuine. "We're not making more of it. We're making it again." 

Merlin almost chokes. 

Percival rises and downs the rest of his wine. “I’ll be in the library in about ten minutes. Just in case you want to join me.”

Merlin doesn’t look after him as Percival saunters off. Instead he lets his gaze shift over the wedding party, trying to figure out if anyone has witnessed this conversation. This perfectly innocent conversation between two colleagues. Only that it can't have been that innocent if it leaves Merlin with his cock hard underneath his kilt. 

He stays in his seat for a few minutes, nursing the remainder of his scotch, before he finally gets up. Thankfully, the heavy garment of his kilt hides his erection. He straightens his jacket and turns to leave for the mansion. 

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Harry puts a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. 

“What?” Merlin all but gasps, refraining from reaching down to adjust his sporran. 

“You know you’re not getting away without a dance.”

“You’re drunk, Harry.”

“I know. But you’re still not leaving without a dance. You’re my oldest friend, you owe me that much.”

Whenever Harry is drunk he somehow reverts back to his younger, almost boyishly playful self. A state of being Merlin can hardly say no to given the massive crush he’s had on him thirty years ago.

“Fine,” Merlin sighs. “There’s something I need to take care of first. Then I’ll dance with you.”

Before Harry can reply, Merlin walks off, trying his best not to appear in a hurry. He falls into a brisk stride as he gets closer to the mansion, taking the garden entrance only because it's convenient and not because it's closest to the library.

Before he enters the room, he stops with his hand on the door handle. What the hell is he doing? 

His brain can't come up with a satisfying answer because the door opens and he stumbles half a step forward. 

“If you were planning on just walking off, you should have avoided that creaky floorboard down the hall,” Percival all but chides him before he steps aside. 

“Seems like I've forgotten how impeccable your hearing is,” Merlin tries to cover his surprise.

“You trained me well.”

Merlin's mood sobers a little. "Percival, what…" He's cut off when Percival all but crashes into him, the bruising kiss taking his words and breath. 

He knows he should probably not let himself be pulled away from the door into the room. He shouldn't just let Percival push him against one of the desks and his hands unter Merlin's jacket. He shouldn't enjoy the feeling of the other man's body against his, the urgency of the touches, the force of their kiss. 

But he does and he can't find it in him to stop.

The edge of the table digs painfully into Merlin's hip as Percival turns him around. He leans forward, bracing himself against the desktop. A shiver runs up his spine when Percival snakes a hand underneath his kilt. 

"Well, that's almost disappointing," Percival drawls into his ear. 

Merlin scoffs. "It's my best friend's wedding. Did you think I was going to officiate with my cock out?" 

"That is exactly what I was thinking." 

When Percival's fingers brush his skin, Merlin tenses. 

Of course Percival picks up on that. He wouldn't be one of their best agents if he didn't. "Tell me to stop and I will." 

Merlin should tell him to stop. He should ask him all those questions that are burning a hole into the rational part of his brain. The only question that’s been stuck, though, is Harry’s from two weeks ago. _With all due respect, Hamish, but when was the last time you even got shagged?_ Well, four weeks ago to be exact and by this very guy who has his hand on his hip now. Before that? There’s been some guy in Warsaw but when has that been? What’s that saying? If you can’t remember, it’s been too long.

So Merlin brushes Percival’s hands aside, reaches under his kilt and tugs his boxer briefs down to his knees. 

Behind him, Percival chuckles quietly, the little laugh sending a shiver down Merlin’s back for an entirely different reason.

With skilled movements, Percival bunches the heavy fabric of Merlin’s kilt into his belt, keeping it out of the way. Again, his fingers meet Merlin’s skin, the touch cool but gentle. 

Merlin bites his tongue when he feels Percival’s thumb slide along his cleft, digging into his flesh. Heat rushes into his cheeks at the first touch against his sphincter and he bends forward, arching his back, his body moving on its own accord.

“Needy, aren’t we?” Percival muses, pushing in ever so slightly.

“I promised Harry I’d dance with him so I can’t be long.”

Another one of those chuckles. “We better speed this up, then.”

Despite the urgency, Percival preps Merin carefully, opening him up with nimble fingers, stretching and scissoring with slow and deep strokes. From somewhere a satchel of lube appears along with a condom. They land unceremoniously next to Merlin's hand and he files away that bit of information; Percival has come prepared.

Fabric grazes his skin and Merlin hears the tell-tale clinking of a belt being undone, a zipper pulled down. Percival reaches past time for the tinfoil package and Merlin’s mind provides the mental image of him rolling the rubber down the length of his cock.

Merlin grabs the lube and tears into the satchel, squirting some of the gel onto his hand. Then he reaches back and runs his fingers along his crack, lubing himself up. He tenses a little when he brushes over his stretched hole and his own cock twitches in anticipation. 

“Bend over,” Percival instructs, taking the lube from Merlin. 

Merlin places his hands on the table again, bracing himself. He wants to spread his legs a bit but he’s trapped by his own pants. He doesn’t get a chance to curse his own modesty because Percival clamps down on his arse again, spreads him open before pressing the very tip of his cock against his entrance. The other hand goes on Merlin’s shoulder, and he’s pulling Merlin back as he pushes forward.

“Oh bloody…. Fuck,” Merlin exclaims as Percival’s cock stretches him. For a brief second he wonders how they’ve managed to fuck (twice - if he wants to believe that story) when Merlin a) had been drunk and b) hadn’t had anything in inside him for… an uncomfortably long time. That thought scatters quickly when Percival starts to move.

His thrusts are quick, almost hurried and perfunctory. He wants to get off and lets Merlin feel it. Merlin just can’t bring himself to care too much. 

It feels good, almost better than he remembered. It’s the right angle, the right speed and force. He bends a little at the knees to take Percival deeper, a move met with a particularly hard thrust. 

Merlin shifts his weight and frees one arm, reaching under the front edge of his kilt for his cock. He’s angrily hard, needy with neglect, the tip sticky with precome. He winces as he runs his fingers over the sensitive slit, bringing the slick down his length as he starts to stroke himself in time with Percival’s rhythm. 

They don’t talk, Percival barely makes a sound and Merlin tries to match. It feels more intimate than it should, given the time and place, but it’s oh so very satisfying. 

Merlin finishes first, spilling over his hands and into the folds of his kilt. He should be embarrassed by how quickly it ends but there’s not a brain cell in the right position for him to care. When he’s done he braces himself against the desk again and lets Percival take him, take what he needs until he comes with a little choked scream. 

They stay like that for a moment before Percival pulls out rather unceremoniously. “Stay like that.”

Merlin follows the order. He closes his eyes against all the different sensations, listens to Percival putter about behind him, the snap of the condom and the wet sound when it lands in one of the bins, the scratch of a zipper. Then he feels tissue paper against his skin as Percival cleans him. 

“Didn’t know we had those around.” That’s the first thing that comes to Merlin’s mind as he straightens. 

“Me either.” Percival balls up the paper and tosses it. “Until I walked in on Harry sucking off Eggsy once.”

Merlin cringes and whatever arousal he still had left it dissipated. “I’m having the place steam-cleaned on Monday.”

Percival smiles to himself as he rights his clothes. “You might want to add the lecture hall to that list.”

Merlin doesn’t because there’s suddenly a way more burning question to ask. “What are we doing?”

“I believe we just fucked.” Percival eyes him. “But that is not what you meant, is it? You want an explanation. A reason, even?”

Merlin doesn’t reply, just nods. 

“I kill people for a living. As you know because in most cases you order me to. Since that’s a bit of a grim job… whenever I’m not working, I want to have some fun. And, as it happened, I like having some fun with you.”

Merlin looks at him. And he understands. Their profession doesn’t allow for a lot of recreation. One might even say that up until Harry had taken over the role of Arthur the mere prospect of fun had been reduced to what little one could do with their own hands. Some agents had the luxury to get their rocks off during honeypot missions but even so it had been fun on the clock, nothing to aspire to. 

“I like it, too,” he hears himself say, readjusting his kilt. 

“I could tell. We should do it again.”

“We should.” Merlin licks his lips, trying not to let it show how much he likes having the fabric brush over his bare skin.

“It’s just going to be this, though. Just sex.”

Merlin can’t help but feel himself smile. “Maybe a coffee in the morning.”

“If I let you stay over.”

“You did the first time.”

“You were drunk. I’m a cold-blooded killer not a monster.”

For a second, Merlin’s mood sobers again. “And Harry mustn’t know.”

“Then you might not want to rub one off on him when you dance.” Percival breeches the gap between them and kneels down to reach for Merlin’s pants that have fallen off his legs. He stashes them into the inside pocket of his jacket but to Merlin’s horrified look. “I told you… I’m not bragging about my conquests…but doesn’t mean I’m not keeping trophies.”


	3. Chapter 3

Being a bit of a voyeur comes with the territory. It's Merlin's job to watch, to observe, to keep an eye out for possible threats, noticing every detail. It also entails him basically sitting in on the agent's honeypot missions, more often than not he's their eyes and ears. 

Usually, he can be fairly neutral about it and focus on the task at - no pun intended - hand but right now he can't quite concentrate.

For one, because of the fairly high frequency of the woman's moans in his ear. And two, because he's watching Percival seduce her right now. 

The whole thing hadn’t been planned as a honeypot mission but halfway in, the chance had presented itself to not just eliminate the head of an eco terrorist group in Lisbon but to also gather intel from the group’s lead hacker. That had led to a very impressive drinking match between Percival and the heavily tattooed women which then had led to them falling into bed at the woman’s tiny apartment.

Merlin had to give her credit. For a woman her size she was surprisingly flexible (he did chide himself for the prejudiced thought) and very, very vocal. Somewhere in the middle of undressing each other, Percival had put his glasses on the woman’s vanity, angling them almost perfectly at the bed. At some point Merlin had turned the volume down, letting the images speak for themselves. 

He wants to look away, he should look away, but he can’t. He can’t take his eyes away from the way Percival moves with her, the way his hands roam over her body, tracing all of her curves as if he’s never done anything else with anyone else. As if he hasn’t done almost the same things with Merlin a few weeks ago.

The thought of it - brief as it might be - lets Merlin’s inside tingle. With the ball of his hand, he presses against his pubic bone, trying to will his growing erection away. Not that that’s any use whatsoever. Not when he has to bear witness to quite the spectacular finish on the screen in front of him.

Percival peels himself out of the bed, leaving the spent heap of the woman in what seems like very sated post-coital oblivion. He snatches her dressing gown from a chair and slips into it before heading to the bathroom to clean himself up.

“Did you get all that?” he asks when he’s picked up his glasses again, making his way into the small kitchen.

It takes Merlin a second or five to realize he’s being spoken to. He has to clear his throat before he dares to form an answer. “Yes. Yes, I did, agent.”

“That was _fun_.” Percival sounds entirely too cheerful.

Merlin’s screen goes blind for a second when Percival opens the fridge and his glasses have to adjust to the light. He watches his agent take out a bottle of beer and then go to search for an opener. Having finally acquired the tool, he takes a long swig.

“Let’s go to work, then, shall we?”

Merlin lets himself be taken back into the bedroom. The woman still seems to be asleep - damn it, Percival - and doesn’t stir when Percival rummages through his clothes for his Kingsman issued mobile. Next, he pulls her laptop from a heavily embroidered bag and sets it onto the vanity, putting the mobile on top.

Something dings on one of Merlin’s computers and he confirms the incoming signal. It takes him some typing and clicking until he finally gains access. “I’m in and I’ve started the cloning script. This might take a few minutes.”

“Don’t worry. Estrela doesn’t look like she’s waking up any time soon. Let alone feel her legs.” Percival lets out a boyish little giggle, having another sip of his drink.

Merlin tries to focus on the screen that shows him the content of the hacker’s computer in a rapid fire manner as it’s getting copied onto one of the Kingsman servers. He really tries to focus, tries to get a first glimpse at whatever intel they take away from this, but his mind keeps slipping back to what he’s just watched. 

“Merlin!”

Percival’s hiss pulls him out of his reverie. “What?”

“I said we should try and recruit Estrela for our station here. She could be of use.” He pauses, then turns to the mirror so that Merlin can see his face while he speaks. He has a brow quirked when he continues. “Are we a wee bit distracted, then?”

“I’m working, agent,” Merlin lies, trying to ignore the amused smile on his screen. 

“Turned you on, didn’t it? Seeing me like this?” Percival doesn’t wait for an answer. He puts his chin in his hand, his elbow on the vanity, sighing a dreamy little sigh. “Been a while since I’ve been with a woman. Not my forte, I’d say.”

“She didn’t seem to complain,” Merlin says through grit teeth.

“Ferocious girl, isn’t she? Almost broke my fingers when she clenched down on me. Guess we can be glad I don’t have to put that into my report.” Percival falls silent for a moment, looking into the mirror as if he can really see Merlin there. He could, it’s just a change of setting away, but he doesn’t. He just sits there and looks at himself. “You are hard now, aren’t you? You try to will it away but it won’t go down. Instead... the more you think about it, about the things I did with her that you didn’t see… the harder you get. Hoping that nobody will come in to see it.”

Merlin doesn’t reply. He won’t admit to anything. Especially not something like that. Even if it’s the truth.

Once more his hand wanders to his groin, trying to find the right pressure point to counteract his almost painful erection.

“Well, then… since you won’t talk to me about _that_ ,” Percival continues, clearly unphased, “answer me this… what you said at the wedding… that you don’t want Harry to know… why?”

“I am not discussing personal matters with you when the target is sleeping it off three feet away from you.”

Percival snorts indelicately, turning back to the heavily snoring Estrela. “Suit yourself. But you’ll give me an answer soon enough.”

Something pings on Merlin’s computer and he realizes he hasn’t been paying attention to his computer all too closely. “We have the computer cloned. You can leave now, agent.”

“What if I don’t want to leave?” Percival stashes his phone again, making sure most of his naked body is visible in the vanity’s mirror.

Merlin takes a hurried sip from his cold tea when his mouth suddenly feels very dry. “Your work is done. I can take it from here.” 

“Maybe I wanna go again.” Percival lets his gaze drift over the sleeping woman.

“Agent,” Merlin hisses. “Terminate this mission now.”

Percival props his hands on the vanity and gets close to the mirror, his breath fogging up the glass a bit. “Do _you_ want to go again?”

There’s something in that tone. It’s not Percival’s usual tone. There’s that challenge there but it sounds… softer somehow. Like it might actually mean something. 

“Yes,” Merlin hears himself say, his voice quiet and almost small, admitting defeat.

Percival beams at him, full of that annoyingly cheeky charm again. “Good. I’ll be back in three days.” He winks. “I’ll bring us some moscatel and pasteles. It’ll be fun.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Excellent work, agent. Thank you for your commitment.” There’s a touch of a smile tugging at Harry’s mouth after Percival has finished his report. 

“Anything for the cause, Sir.” Percival gives a little nod but he himself can’t help the slightly amused look. 

Eggsy outright sniggers and toes at Roxy’s foot.

The only one who can’t crack a smile at the agent’s very vivid retelling of his latest mission in Lisbon is Merlin. He’s too busy staring at his clipboard, making sure he presents the correct slides during Percival’s report while not getting aroused by it at the same time. It’s a futile endeavor and he’s thanking whoever is listening up- or downstairs that he’s sitting down and can successfully hide is growing erection.

“Is there anything else on the agenda, Merlin?”

It takes a moment to filter through Merlin’s brain that Harry is speaking to him. “Only a few things concerning budgeting but we can talk about that afterwards.”

Harry eyes him which Merlin chooses to ignore. 

“Well, then. You are dismissed, gentleman,” Harry says to the crowd of the four present agents and the three who have called in remotely. Those images wink out, leaving Eggsy and Roxy to filter out of the room, still giggling like schoolgirls. Gawain takes a moment to sort out his pair of crutches he’s brought as a souvenir from Cairo. Percival pulls out the chair for him and holds the door as the other agent hobbles through.

“Arthur… Merlin…,” he nods at them by way of taking his leave but his eyes linger a little longer on Merlin. 

“Is there something else?” Merlin asks, his tone clipped. More clipped than usual. So clipped in fact that Percival’s brow ticks up.

“Nothing, sir. Have a good day, sir.”

Merlin tries not to glower too much at him as the door falls close behind the two agents.

“Do you mind telling me what that was?” Harry asks, drawing Merlin’s attention back.

“What was what?”

“I know your Scottish manners take the better of you sometimes and that you’ve never been friends with Percival but… you’ve been downright rude to him today. Did he botch the mission after all?”

Merlin clears his throat, feeling heat rise into his cheeks. “He hasn’t. In fact, he’s gotten us more information that we had hoped for.”

“Then what has gotten your plaid knickers in a twist?”

“There was no need to go into quite as many details about his… conquests.” A chill rolls down Merlin’s spine at the very word Percival has used for their own endeavor.

Harry scoffs. “You’ve watched him do it. Compared to that his retelling seemed almost tame.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have been so smug about it then. It’s hardly a victory when the other person is heavily intoxicated.” 

Harry rises from his chair and goes to fix himself a drink from a bar cart in the corner. “Since when have you become such a prude? You have seen me do far worse.”

“And it is forever seared into my brain.” Merlin takes the glass from Harry’s hand and takes a big swig from it. “Maybe you’re right which I am not saying that you are. Maybe I should…”

“Take the weekend off and get laid?”

Merlin almost chokes on the last sip of whisky. “Why, pray tell, are you so adamant about my sex life?”

“Because you are my oldest friend and I would prefer if you were as happy as I am.” Harry clamps a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Or at least just as satisfied.”

“Can we please talk about the budgeting now? Otherwise I might have to make use of one of our poison pens.”

*

“Who on the fucking lord’s green earth is…. Oh.” Percival stops mid-rant as he yanks the door open. “You…”

“You were sleeping?” Merlin gives the man a onceover, takes in the satin pajama bottoms with the cherry blossoms, the billowing black dressing gown, and the eyes mask that sits askew on the agent’s forehead. He looks irritated to say the least, dark eyes glowing angrily.

“Emphasis on the ‘were’. What do you want?” the agent snaps.

“I meant to talk to you. Pick up where we left off when you were in Lisbon.”

“Now?” Percival gets even more irritated.

“I wasn’t aware that you’d go to bed at eight o’clock on a Friday night.”

Percival’s shoulders slump. “I usually crash after a mission.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Nothing I brag about. I’m high on adrenaline when I’m in the field and it holds up through all the debriefs and prods and probes. Then I sleep for like a day.” Percival leans against the doorframe, looking more tired than he did just a moment ago.

“I’m… I should go, then. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

Merlin has already turned and is on the way to the elevator - he knows the kind of money an agent makes but still… an elevator? That’s just rude - when Percival speaks again. “Stay.”

“What?” Merlin turns again. 

Percival waves a hand as he steps away from the door and pads back into his apartment, dragging his bare feet across the polished floor. 

“Percival…” Merlin closes the door behind him.

“I told you… it’s Alistair in here… Or Al, if you must.” He pours himself a whiskey, then looks over his shoulder. “Drink?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Merlin accepts the proffered tumbler and takes a sip. “This is good. Even if it’s Irish.” 

“I get it straight from the distillery. We lived near when I grew up.” Percival casts a little forlorn smile into the glass. “When the wind stood right, the whole town smelled like molasses. Sometimes I think I got buzzed from just the scent. Might explain a few things, doesn’t it?” He slumps down on the leather couch, splayed out in his dressing gown like a romantic painting. “You wanted to talk?”

Merlin doesn’t reply right away. He sips his whiskey and walks to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that offer quite a spectacular view of the London skyline. He’s never been too fond of the somewhat mismatched heap of skyscrapers in the City of London but he has to admit that they do look beautiful in the waning sunlight.

“You wanted to know why I want to keep this from Harry,” he starts, not really expecting an answer. 

He does get one, though, in the form in a soft snore.

Merlin turns to find Percival - Alistair… he almost needs to practice that in his head - asleep on the sofa, the tumbler of whiskey still in hand. The eye mask has slipped even higher, sitting on his head like a satiny crown. 

For a moment, Merlin contemplates waking him. He hasn’t come out here, mustered courage and all, to be fallen asleep on. And yet, it might be his ticket to come off easy, to not talk about what he isn’t really keen on talking about.

Still not sure what to do, he starts with taking the glass from Alistair’s hand before it can slip from his fingers. 

“Told you to stay.” Alistair’s voice is wobbly and far away. “Gimme an hour…. I got books.”

Merlin should have known that even while he’s obviously asleep, his best sniper is still very much aware of his surroundings. It’s what he’s trained to do, what he excels at, and even all the cherry-flowered flourish he’s wearing to sleep in doesn’t change that.

So Merlin sets the glass down and draps the edge of a knitted blanket over Alistair’s bare stomach, earning himself a content sigh. Then he carefully pads over to one of the low shelves that seem to overflow with books. They range from travel guides to history and over to science and photography. There’s loads of photography there; wildlife, landscapes, people. At least, Merlin settles on a heavy volume on Vietnam.

Of course, he knows what Vietnam looks like, having been there himself twice some twenty-five years ago and from supervising various missions in the country. He has never seen quite that much of the landscape, though, and what he sees even on the first pages is simply stunning.

He carries the book over to the dining table, then retrieves his drink and sits down with his reading. 

It’s surreal, really. He’s come here to talk to Alistair about whatever this is that they are doing and why he can’t have Harry know about it. It had cost him enough nerve to even make the trip over here, let alone speak about this, only to have his courage snuffed like a candle because Alistair had fallen asleep on him. It’s ridiculous, laughable, and he should probably go, but he doesn’t. He stays and he reads about the Mhong and their efforts to make their arid lands somewhat habitable. 

He’s so engrossed in the book that he flinches and bites back a yelp when a hand closes around his wrist.

“Let’s go to the roof. The view’s spectacular.”

Merlin looks into Alistair’s boyishly gleaming eyes. “What…” he manages before he notices that it’s already gone dark. Somewhere in the middle of his reading, he must have gotten up to switch on the lights, but he doesn’t remember doing it. “How long…”

“Told you I only needed an hour. Gave you two for good measure.” He tugs at Merlin’s arm, juggling a bottle of wine and cardboard box at the same time. “Come along, then.”

Still a bit dumbstruck - and probably looking like it, too - Merlin follows Alistair up the winding staircase that leads to the gallery and from there to a door that opens to the terrace on the roof. There’s a table and chairs there, waiting for a summer dinner, and a huge cabana with billowing white curtains and matching sheets. 

After putting down the bottle and the box, Alistair flops down into the huge pile of pillows, almost disappearing like a needle in a haystack. “I love this place. It’s actually the reason I bought it. Isn’t that view phantasic?”

“It is, yes,” Merlin stammers, somewhat befuddled. Since when has he become befuddled? Only after his confirmation does he turn around, taking in the view. 

Everything around them is light. Against the dark sky the surrounding buildings glow and twinkle, millions of light from windows to streetlamps to cranes to cars. The City of London stands tall against the lower buildings, patchy patterns of illuminated offices, flats and the occasional restaurant. The lit tip of The Shard glows in the distance like a beacon.

Of course, he has seen the skyline like this before. He probably sees it more during the night than any other time, but he’s never really _seen_ it, has never really taken the time to open his eyes to it.

Again, he snaps out of his reverie when Alistair’s hand closes around his wrist and he lets himself be dragged along to the cabana where he’s pushed onto the soft mattress. A moment later, he finds the other man sitting astride his lap, the silken robe draped around them. 

“So talk then before I fall asleep on you again.” Alistair leans into him to take a nip at his bottom lip. 

Merlin struggles to push him back so that he can look at him. “Can you not…”

“Isn’t it what you really came here for?” He takes another plunge, actually catching Merlin’s mouth this time.

“It’s… not. Not like this. We… we need to talk.”

With a disappointed huff Alistair sits back, almost pouting. “Talk, then. Tell me why the great Harry Hart mustn't know his quartermaster is getting it from his best agent.”

Merlin has to smile at that. “He’ll debate that you’re his best agent.”

Alistair sobers. “Tell me, then. Are you ashamed? Of this? Of me?”

“No, it’s not like that.” Merlin almost wants to reach up to his face but refrains. “I… Harry and me… we’ve known each other for longer than I care to admit. We started at Kingsman together and ever since we’ve been best friends. And ever since, he... “ Merlin swallows, trying to find the right words. “For once, I want something that is just my own. Without his judgement, without his commentary.”

Alistair looks at him, accesses him. “Do you love him?”

“I do…. But not like that.”

“But you did… like that.” It’s not a question.

Merlin swallows. “Yes.” A little reminiscent smile inches onto his face. “He was gorgeous back then.”

“Still is.”

“True. But… I soon figured if we were more than just friends I’d rather kill him, so… I learned to love him differently.” Why he’s saying it like that, why he chooses Alistair of all people to tell this even though he’s never even spoken to Harry about it, Merlin doesn’t know. And he doesn’t care to dig for an answer.

Alistair looks at him for a long moment. Then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Merlin’s lips.

“Alright,” he says when he pulls back. 

“Alright?”

“I told you I wanted fun. When you talk like that... ‘Harry mustn’t know’,” Alistair mimics Merlin’s voice and accent, “that’s not fun.”

Merlin nods slowly, still trying to understand what is happening. “So what now then?”

“Well…” Alistair leans over to where he’s placed the bottle of wine and pulls out the cork. “Maybe I’ve already sampled this but… I’d say now we have a drink.” He takes a long pull from the bottle, a little dribble running down his chin. “And then we’re going to have sex.” He leans into Merlin and kisses him, long enough to take his breath away and deep enough to have him taste the wine on his tongue. This time he doesn’t pull back but lingers against Merlin, reddened lips skimming along the skin of Merlin’s cheek. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again. “I want you inside me.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to pull back then. “Didn’t think you…”

“Bottom? Oh yes, I do. Especially when I’m this tired and can’t be arsed to all the work myself.”

There's something about that cheeky smile that makes Merlin match the expression. Without breaking eye contact, he takes the bottle from Alistair's hand and takes a long pull from it. The wine is rich and heavy, and it feels like the fruity taste goes directly to his head. 

“Maybe we should do this… somewhat sober for once.” Alistair takes the bottle back, not without taking another swig, and places it back on the floor. “Who knows...we might not even like it after all.” With his lips firmly pressed against Merlin’s, he pushes him back and onto the mattress. 

Supporting his weight on one hand, he worms the other underneath Merlin’s shirt, popping the bottom-most button along the way. When his fingertips brush against Merlin’s skin, the Scot hisses against Alistair’s mouth.

“So sensitive… or is the great quartermaster Merlin ticklish?” Alistair almost sing-songs as he opens one button after the other. 

“Hamish,” Merlin hears himself say against the shell of the other man’s ear. 

Alistair pulls back, brows raised.

“My name,” Merlin clarifies. It feels odd saying it, he hasn’t used his given name in ages. 

Alistair leans into him for a kiss. “I think I’ll stick to Merlin for now. Makes me feel like I’m fucking a secret agent or something.” He shoots Merlin another one of those boyish grins. Then he climbs back to his feet. With a little shimmy of his hips, he lets his pajama pants slide down his legs until the garment pools around his feet.

Merlin props himself up on his elbows, looking at him.

The dressing gown blows around Alistair in a ridiculously artistic fashion. He doesn’t have the bulky muscles Eggsy trains so hard for or the lithe frame Harry prides himself with even at his age but Merlin knows that the unobtrusive image is just that - an image. Alistair is just as deadly as the other agents and in his effortlessness he’s goddamn beautiful.

“Like what you see, then? I can see it in your eyes. And there.” Alistair’s brow twitches up as he lets his gaze travel over Merlin’s body, more specifically over the prominent bulge in his trousers. 

Merlin isn't quite sure what happens to his clothes after that. All he remembers is curious hands all over him that strip him off all his layers. There’s not a lot of finesse to it, really, just the urgency to get him naked but he doesn’t mind. 

He shivers when the cool air catches bare skin and he becomes acutely aware that they’re out in the open. So he steps into Alistair’s embrace, pulling him into a kiss and the robe around them both before they tumble back into bed.

From somewhere a tube of lube appears - in his former life Alistair must have been some sort of boy scout - and Merlin wants to take it but Alistair wraps his fingers around his wrist, halting his motion.

“Let me do that. I don’t like getting my arse fingered by someone else. Bad memories,” Alistair explains almost nonchalantly.

Before Merlin can ask him to elaborate, he pulls him down for another kiss. Between their bodies, Alistair fumbles with the lube until he gets his fingers coated and snakes his hand between his legs. The breath hitches in his throat and he almost bites Merlin’s lip as he breaches his own body.

Merlin pulls back a little and watches him as he prepares himself. It’s oddly intimate and dizzyingly sexy at the same time. He can’t help but reach between them for his own cock to stroke himself slowly. He paces his movements in time with Alistair’s shallow thrusts, his eyes never leaving the slack of the man’s jaw, the little blip of his tongue against his lips.

It takes Merlin by surprise when Alistair uses one leg as leverage and flips him on his back, sliding into Merlin’s lap in one go. The mysterious lube-source has also produced a condom that now sticks between Alistair’s teeth. He tears into it and with slick fingers rolls it down Merlin’s cock.

Alistair leans over him for a quick little kiss before he sits up and aligns Merlin’s prick with his entrance. He lets himself sink down without stopping, a myriad of reactions playing over his face; a quick twist of pain, a shuddering breath, a sigh that becomes a moan, a dopey little smile.

He bites his bottom lips and his fingers dig into Merlin’s chest when he has fully taken him in. “Fuck, you’re big.” Alistair exhales audibly. “I mean… I’ve seen you… and I’ve touched you but… damn… should’ve let you fuck me sooner.”

Alistair rolls his hips and it takes Merlin a good amount of self-control not to buck up against him. It’s been an uncomfortably long time since he’s been on top - at least technically - and it feels bloody marvelous.

“You needn’t be delicate.” Alistair takes Merlin's wrists and guides his hands to his hips. 

Merlin takes the cue to press his fingers into the fleshy curves of Alistair's arse, guiding his movement just so. He knows that - despite Alistair's words - he's not really in charge but he doesn't mind. Not at all. He pushes up, providing a counterpoint to Alistair's rhythm who answers it with a pleased smile. 

Alistair's gown drapes around them as he leans forward for a long kiss. The change of angle makes him push a low moan against Merlin's lips. Then he shifts his weight to one arm to snake the other between their bodies for his cock. 

With a strange sort of fascination Merlin watches him start to stroke himself. There is nothing special about it, there is no finesse to it, but there's something in the expression on his face that Merlin can't take his eyes from. He's seen Alistair's face on numerous occasions, has seen through his eyes even more. He knows the things he's capable of in so much as the blink of an eye. But there is this intimacy to this that is beyond a quick fuck on a London rooftop.

Merlin almost misses when Alistair comes between them. He's so enthralled in cataloging all the little details now that he can actually see - and remember - them that it takes him by surprise when hot streaks of white paint his stomach. 

It's pathetic how quickly he follows but this entire situation is too overwhelming. Merlin burrows a moan against the crook of Alistair’s neck, clutching down on his arse to pull him closer. A few more enticing rolls of Alistair’s hips against his draws more from Merlin and he hears the blood rush in his ears.

“Fuck…” Merlin presses through grit teeth when he’s finished, slumping back against the pillows.

“Oh, it finally speaks.” Alistair grins down at him.

He’s right. Merlin hasn’t said a single word since Alistair has stripped out of his clothes. He doesn’t have a reason - at least not one he’s aware of - he just doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. So instead of scrambling for words he doesn’t mean, he pulls Alistair into another kiss.

At last, Alistair pushes himself up on his arms again and rolls off Merlin, flopping unceremoniously down next to him. “That was spectacular, wasn’t it?” He glances over at Merlin.

Merlin doesn’t answer as he looks around himself, trying to find a way to cover himself now that he’s exposed to the world around them again. Of course Alistair notices and drapes one edge of his robe across Merlin’s groin.

“Thanks,” Merlin says, trying not to be too embarrassed.

“There’s three vantage points… there, there and way back there.” Alistair points into three opposing directions.

Merlin just eyes him, brow raised.

“I saw your look earlier. You asked yourself if anybody can see us.” As if to make his point, he drapes the other corner of the robe over his own cock. “Yes, they can. If they want to. First thing I checked when I moved here.”

“And you don’t care?”

“Do you?”

Another thing Merlin doesn’t have an answer to.

“I am a murderer, Merlin. Granted, most people I kill are scum that the world is better off without, but still… I kill people for a living. If I cared what they thought of me, I’d’ve offed myself a long time ago.” Alistair turns on his side, propping his head up on his hand. “What matters is what I think of me.”

“And what do you think of you?”

“That I’m a pretty decent shag, got myself a gorgeous stud to fuck, and they can be glad they got to watch this.” He tries to stay sincere but he breaks into a grin.

Merlin can’t help but match the smile. This whole thing is so unlike anything he’s ever done, Alistair is unlike anyone he’s ever met and even though he’s known him for years, this private side of him is the polar opposite to his composed and almost stoic behaviour at work.

“You’re impossible,” Merlin hears himself say, not really sure what he means by that.

“Don’t all the impossible men end up at Kingsman?” Alistair leans in for a surprisingly soft kiss. Then he rolls back over to reach for the little box he’s brought with them earlier, holding it out to Merlin. “I’m bloody famished. Pasteles?”


End file.
